


Listen to our blood run side by side

by jijal



Category: BTOB
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, Platonic Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jijal/pseuds/jijal
Summary: Changsub tries to find his better half (that hesodoesn't need).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here it is... chapter uno of this not minhoon(!) magical elements meet soulmate but not really soulmate...au. i cannot remember specifically thinking of [this](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/167639829930/imagine-your-otp-living-in-a-world-where-they%22) prompt as i was developing the plot but i guess it deserves credit; also partly inspired by [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827523/chapters/29285988) fic (go read it). title from pretty face by sóley

Changsub knew he had it coming, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to bite back the cuss when he spots the first daisy wrapped around his ring finger, the clean white petals clearly visible under his skin, as he reaches into the fridge to get himself another bottle of beer. A deep, resigned sigh, a click of his tongue and he closes the fridge again and goes back to the God awful drama he was watching on his laptop.

With not even a week until his birthday left, he spent his days trying to focus on work and friends and skating with Hyunsik, letting himself come to terms with the inevitable at his own time, while simultaneously doing anything he could come up with to not think about it. It was a restless two, maybe three weeks, ever since Minhyuk had brought it up for the last time, excited at the prospect of Changsub finally,  _finally_  getting matched, and, if he is being honest, he is somewhat more at ease now that it’s happened. All he has to do is wait, and endure the blossom, the most annoying part of it all, or so he’s been told. Whoever it is waiting on the other side better be worth his whole body covered in flower tattoos in a few days' time.

If Changsub were in any position to decide, he wouldn’t assign himself to anyone in the first place. Some people don’t need a second half, some people are born complete, yet no one seems to believe that, or want to believe that, as if it was something bad, or embarrassing. It is, kind of, not because you are alone, but because people love to make a big deal out of it, to make you feel bad about yourself and like you should be embarrassed, ashamed even, to be without a better half at the age of twenty-five. And despite Changsub’s stern belief that he is not someone to care about others’ opinions a whole lot, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him, at all.

He watches another three episodes, to the point of his eyelids burning when he blinks just to make sure he’ll be tired enough to fall asleep right away and won’t spend another two hours lying awake in bed, thinking about it, them, this whole situation, while continuously telling himself not to, which is a contradiction in itself, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least try.

Waking up to his entire finger covered in a mix of daisies and forget-me-nots, all the way down to his knuckle, Changsub is robbed of any blissfully peaceful moment of  _not thinking about it_  his sleepy state could have granted him. If only it wasn’t this bright, and vibrant, and there. Or on a part of his body that was easier to cover up. If only it wasn’t impossible to ignore.

He leaves to go to work, and lives a little more conscious of his environment and, even more so, the people he encounters. He sends his co-worker, who’d been working the night shift, home with a sloppy bow and an almost rehearsed  _you’ve worked hard, get home safe_ , and notes with relief that he’s not the one. After all, Changsub wouldn’t put it past the Universe to pick out the least desirable person for him, whatever that may mean, he isn’t quite sure himself.

He starts to work his shift like he would any other day, and he tries to moderate the speed at which his head spins around to the door whenever the little bell announces a new customer entering the convenience store, to get a good look at who it is and to see if it might be his long lost match, albeit more out of nervousness than awfully beautiful, theatrical longing. He’d love to get the first meeting over with, although he’s been told it can be borderline magical: finally being able to lay eyes on the person the Universe, or God, or something like a Supernatural Subconscious, deemed perfect for him for the first time, feeling the connection that, ultimately, became strong enough to nudge fate in the ribs and have it work its magic to make two destined ends meet. He’d also love for the flowers to stop spreading; it’s nowhere near as bad as it is for Minhyuk, who can’t go a weekend on his own without both his arms sporting beds of roses, which is not only ridiculously cheesy, and a little bit tacky, but a pain to hide thanks to their bold, conspicuous shade of red, but it’s embarrassing nevertheless. Changsub could swear he can feel every customer noticing his finger with a small, empathetic smile, when he's scanning items or giving back change, which makes ignoring it fairly difficult.

The rest of the day goes by slowly, uneventful, Changsub being left with little to do once the morning rush hour has passed, people are at work or school and the only customers he can scan items for are the elderly or tourists, his phone is about to run out of battery and he isn’t sure having it die before he’s even left work is worth continuing that God awful, but surprisingly addicting drama. He sorts through and organises stock, tidies up the cash desk and thinks about what he’ll have for dinner, dying to kill time and not imagine what his match could be like, where they live, what they are into and passionate about.

When one of his co-workers arrives to take over for the evening, Changsub is torn between relief, happiness to be able to go home and eat — eat what exactly for dinner again? — and that embarrassingly existent bit of disappointment over a,  _the_  meeting that didn’t happen.

Patience. And trust in the Universe to get its shit together, that is all he needs. His day will come, he will get the world-changing, eye-opening bump-into on the bus he’s been promised.

Except that he doesn’t.

They don’t show up, not the first day on his way home, not the second or the third. A week goes by, a week like any other. Changsub’s heart doesn’t start fluttering, his stomach is almost grieving for butterflies, and he gets used to the flowers steadily spreading inside the palm of his hand. The more often he catches himself waiting, expecting something, someone to appear and sweep him off his feet, the more ridiculous it gets, really, and he thinks he shouldn’t be this desperate to find his second half because he doesn’t need one, doesn’t have one to begin with. Whoever it is the Universe has in store for him, or doesn’t, considering they have yet to actually show up, can’t be that great, and certainly isn’t worth days spent fixating the door of the convenience store and watching people pass by. So, Changsub decides to revert to his old strategy, getting his mind off of it as good as he can, and drops by at the shelter on Saturday, his first day off work in a while. Minhyuk’s big smile is visible all the way from the entrance and as Changsub makes his way over to him, careful not to trip over one of the many puppies running around or any of the children chasing after them. Minhyuk gives him a quick hug, wishing him a late happy birthday, and tells him he’ll be on break in five minutes before disappearing into the storage room. Changsub is left to exchange awkward glances with Minhyuk’s co-worker, giving a small smile every now and then, as Changsub desperately digs through his brain to remember the guy’s name, in case he decides to start a conversation.

Fortunately, Minhyuk’s finished and putting on his jacket, signalling Changsub to follow him to the back, before any forced small talk could be attempted. Approximately ten dogs come running their way as soon as Minhyuk’s opened the door and is whistling through his fingers, past the two of them straight into the backyard. Minhyuk and Changsub step outside as well, ice cold air hitting their faces and seeping through their clothes. Minhyuk quickly makes sure the gate of the backyard is secured before plumping down onto the bench next to Changsub.

“And?” he asks, the excited expression, his eyes wide like a child's, unwrapping its first present at Christmas enough for Changsub to know that Minhyuk has most likely been dying to know about this for days. His smile crumbles when he notices that Changsub isn't grinning from ear to ear, eager to rave about his match with affection in his voice and hearts in his eyes. Changsub just shakes his head, and Minhyuk’s face drops completely.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Changsub lifts his hand in response, pulling down the sleeve as far as the jacket allows it, showing Minhyuk the colourful mix of bright yellow tulips covering his forearm and the old layer of daisies and forget-me-nots, that are merely filling in the gaps with faded hints of white, blue and violet now. Minhyuk’s brows furrow in worry at the sight. He’s one of the most traditional, old-school people Changsub knows; in his eyes, there is reason behind every match, people are designated to be together, so to think that his best friend is denied his partner for life is concerning, when all Minhyuk wants is for things to run smoothly.

“You haven’t found them yet?” he asks. “What about the link?”

The link, the metaphorical thread that connects two matches and allows them to communicate from afar, albeit through any means imaginable, but speech. While it may seem tempting, in Changsub’s case it really isn’t; depending on what skill it is one was born with and the level at which it’s been perfected, people can perceive, project and manipulate their match, or anyone else in close proximity, but he’d rather not chance it, use the link and thus ruin any possibility of not having it fade, and, if he’s lucky, wither and die completely, just to get a look inside his match’s head and feel what they’re feeling. This whole debacle has become way more messy and complicated than he thought it ever would, and he’d gladly return to his old, normal life, without a stranger waiting at the end of some sort of magical, mental, spiritual, God damned connection he never asked for to begin with.

Of course, Minhyuk would never let him do that, being the persistent and slightly meddling best friend that he is. Changsub feels him inside his head for a second, not really bothered to block him out and keep him from reading his thoughts before Changsub gets a chance to put them into words.

“Don’t you dare let it die,” Minhyuk says, indignant, as soon as he’s caught on successfully. “It hasn’t even been proven it works.”

“I can try?”

Minhyuk gives him a grim look. “Check up on them.”

“What’s the point, hyung? You don't even get that much out of emotions.”

“If they haven’t showed up yet, you should at least try and communicate in a different way. Aren’t you curious at all?”

Changsub takes a deep breath, somewhat convinced and somewhat too tired to argue, and concentrates on the link, on the other human end of it, and before he realises, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness rolls over him like a wave, pulls him under water and makes it hard to breathe. The longer he stays with them, the clearer he can distinguish the nuances within the mixture; it’s not just loneliness, there’s despair, fear and that feeling of helplessness nearly as strong, nearly as suffocating. Changsub has rarely felt something this overwhelming, and he has to force himself to snap out of it before it gets too much and the tears that have begun building up in his eyes impossible to blink away.

“That’s dark,” he mumbles, the emotions only slowly subsiding. He looks up into Minhyuk’s expectant face. “They’re lonely.”

Which is putting it easy, short, a lot less painful than it was to experience. Changsub wants nothing more than to forget that feelings that _crushing_ exist.

“Comfort them,” Minhyuk says. “They’re your match. Be nice.”

“Fine.” 

Changsub rolls his eyes at him, before he centres all his attention again and directs it onto his match, tries to force the ever-growing flood of scary, anxious feelings back where they can’t reach them —

— until he's forcefully pulled all the way from wherever they are back next to Minhyuk into the backyard of the shelter, something like a harsh yank at the strands of hair at the back of his head putting him in his place again.

“They—They’re—“ he sputters, finding Minhyuk’s eyes, “They kicked me out.”

“What, just like that?”

“Just like that,” Changsub echoes, shaking his head in disbelief. Blocking someone of his level out requires, naturally, someone of an even higher level, or a stronger skill, or both, which isn’t impossible, but certainly not the kind of person Changsub would have thought to be matched with, would have wanted to be matched with.

As the shock wears off, he gets the feeling back in his neck, and he lets out a pained groan, rubbing his hand over the spot where he'd felt the force the strongest. It was so sudden, so strong, he’s sure it’d have actually ripped out his hair if it’d been real.

“Who would’ve thought,” Minhyuk mumbles, an amused smile playing around his lips at the sulky frown plastered across Changsub’s face. “Who would’ve ever thought you’d be the _weaker_ half?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is. literally just a filler, kind of world-building chapter. please forgive me. i swear itll get properly interesting...eventually

Changsub isn't sulking. His ego didn't take a blow. None of the things Minhyuk and Ilhoon were joking about are true. Not the tiniest bit. He shoots them a long look from where's sitting on one end of the couch in their apartment — thankfully, they stopped after a few amused jabs and shared chuckles and asked him what he wanted to watch for his birthday movie night, two weeks late and after a long day at work for all three of them. The flashing lights of the television illuminating their living room at second intervals allow Changsub to see Minhyuk and the immersed expression on his face, and Ilhoon, who’s about to doze off despite the loud sound effects of the action film Changsub went for, head resting in Minhyuk’s lap and eyes falling shut against his will every so often.

Changsub averts his gaze, attempting to get into the movie for the fifth, maybe sixth time and finally gives up with a shallow breath when he realises his thoughts most likely won’t. To say his mood is ruined because of what Minhyuk and Ilhoon said would be an overstatement, but what Changsub had hoped to be the highly appreciated, well deserved evening of distraction he had been looking forward to turned out to be the end of a day like any other. Once the anticipation and nervousness to get to know his match had turned into resignation, when Changsub had accepted that they weren’t going to show up, and the bed of flowers taking over his upper arm by now began to become a part of him, a part of him he is sick of seeing, but a part of him nevertheless, the daily grind became even more prominent, and almost unbearable. Changsub refuses to admit that, maybe, this is what it feels like to be missing something, something he didn’t need, but had been promised and never granted. He hasn’t tried to connect with them ever since they blocked him out; he isn’t sulking, and his ego didn’t take a blow — at least he’d never admit to that out loud, but he told himself he needed time to process things, and, apparently, his match isn’t interested in Changsub reaching out to them, anyway.

Which makes it even harder to understand why they are seemingly determined to make sure Changsub is reminded of their existence every day, and in the most bizarre way at that.

The first time he heard it, he thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him, his bored brain desperate for stimulation after hours of one of the most uneventful shifts in a long time. His head shot up, tearing his eyes away from the screen of his phone and searching the small convenience store for the source of what he couldn't help but think sounded like a meow, coming from somewhere near the middle aisle, if he were to trust his ears. He leaned back in his chair to get a good look, tilted his head as he let his eyes roam the floor. Yet, he found nothing, no cat, no bag of chips on the floor that could have been magically knocked over, and so he went back to the drama he'd been watching, putting both his earphones in this time.

Merely a few hours later, the store having got a little more lively with a few customers strutting through the aisles, short conversations about different brands of instant noodles and other ridiculously mundane topics here and there giving Changsub something to pay attention to that wasn't his own breathing, he suddenly jumped at the feeling of something grazing his ankle under the cash desk, letting out a surprised yelp as he almost fell backwards off his chair. The old lady in the freezer aisle gave him a scolding look, and Changsub apologised for startling her as soon as he’d regained his balance, before he tried to get over the embarrassment and the heat crawling up his neck and went on to look for the mysterious intruder. Trying not to draw any more attention onto himself, he silently searched the area behind the cash desk and then left his spot to check every corner of the store while pretending to be reorganising the shelves. Although he wasn’t quite sure what it was he was looking for, he was convinced he’d know when he saw it, but, again, he didn't find anything, and had to hurry back to the cash desk to finish off a customer he hadn't noticed waiting to pay.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the couch in his flat that evening, fighting to stay awake to do his finances, something he loves putting off with a burning passion, with his laptop on his lap and his third, maybe fourth cup of coffee next to him, that he felt it again, that almost familiar feeling of fur brushing against his skin, slowly moving from his ankle up to his knee and his lower thigh, where it decided to lie down next to him. He let out a deep breath and then risked a glance behind his laptop, to see if his suspicion would be proven right, and for the third time that day, there was absolutely nothing, nothing and no one on the couch with him, yet he could distinctively make out where the cat was snuggled up against his leg, its soft fur and the heat radiating off of its small body, the steady rise and falling of its chest, subtle but there, there but not real.

Changsub stared at the spot for a few more seconds, almost unnoticeably quiet, content purring breaking the silence, and suddenly became awfully aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but boxers and a dirty T-shirt. He stopped himself before he could actually get up and properly dressed, though. It was silly, _he_ was being silly. He was on his own, even if his match was doing a damn good job at making him feel like he wasn’t.

And even though being accompanied by an invisible cat every day was fairly weird at best, Changsub didn’t hate it as much as he wanted to. Sometimes it'd startle him as it strode past his legs or it'd actually trick him into thinking he couldn't get up from the couch because he'd have to wake it up first, but he found comfort in the small gestures whenever he remembered the person on the other end, that apparently cared enough about him to gift him a semi-present pet when they had the time. It also puzzled Changsub even more than that afternoon at the shelter, kept him mentally occupied to the point of him forgetting about what it was he was doing every now and then, just to get lost in thoughts about what kind of person he had been set up with.

“Any news, by the way?”

Minhyuk's voice has Changsub snap out of his thoughts, eyes flickering from where they were fixed on the floor up to Minhyuk’s face, the television, where, Changsub notices with surprise, the credits are already rolling, and then back to Minhyuk, remote in one hand to turn down the volume of the ending credits and the other hand combing softly through Ilhoon’s hair.

“No. I still have no idea who it is. It’s driving me crazy,” Changsub says, Minhyuk shooting him an empathetic smile.

“You know,” he says, “maybe there’s a reason for all of this. Maybe they’re that special.”

“But I don’t care, hyung,” Changsub whines, as if Minhyuk had any say in the matter and would be able to bring an end to it if Changsub begged for mercy and managed to convince him. “It’s been two weeks. And they still haven’t showed up.”

“The brother of a guy my mother works with was like that. I think,” Ilhoon chimes in, voice raspy and his words mumbled, only slowly escaping his sleepy state.

“You  _think_?” Changsub asks back, sitting up properly as he directs his full attention onto Ilhoon.

“Maybe it was the cousin.”

Either Ilhoon is completely oblivious to the importance of the story to Changsub or just indifferent to his despair. Waiting for him to continue, Changsub watches Ilhoon with growing impatience, as he shifts a few times until he’s found the ideal spot to rest his head on Minhyuk’s thigh again and, without losing another word, lets his eyes flutter shut, about to go back to sleep.

“Did he end up finding them?” Changsub bursts out, trying his best to mask the annoyance in his voice even though Ilhoon doesn’t really deserve it.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, as he forces his eyes open again, “That weird centre couldn't help him, so he started looking for them everywhere himself, hung up posters and asked for help on the internet and stuff. He was really fucking desperate. Took him like a year to find her, but he did. Through a friend of her family who saw one of the posts or something.”

Minhyuk coos. “That’s so romantic.”

Ilhoon shoots him an irritated look from where his head is resting in his lap. Being a standard, unskilled human being, Ilhoon’s different views are refreshing, even if they tend to trigger playful bickering more often than not between the two; Changsub is glad to have him in his small, manageable group of friends, although it is still heavily frowned upon by most. Being friends with the unskilled, let alone dating, is nothing parents wish for their children when they grow up, it’s regarded as going against tradition, if not down right betrayal, even though matches are assigned out of anyone's control. It’s tolerated for the most part, and people will refrain from doing anything beyond giving that condescending look if they find out, but Changsub knows what a burden it can be, having had to watch Minhyuk back when he’d found out about Ilhoon for the first time. They’d been seeing each other for a short while, and they both had been convinced that what they had going on would never become anything permanent or serious. That is, until it did and they got matched, and Minhyuk was forced to make a choice, torn between pleasing his parents and giving up his own internalised ideals and expectations to accept Ilhoon as his match, the prospect of social stigma and stupid jokes being thrown their way not making things any easier.

Needless to say, Minhyuk chose Ilhoon, even if it never felt like he had had that much of a choice to begin with, and with him every inappropriate comment, every minute he’d spent arguing with his family about whether he had made the right decision.

"Who'd look for someone they don't know for over a year?" Ilhoon says, earning himself an unimpressed look from Minhyuk, because, obviously, he would have.

“Of course you don’t get it. For you, there are a million options, you hook up with strangers, stumble from one relationship into the next in the span of weeks. For us, there's that one perfect person. It's so much more meaningful."

"Oh, shut up," Ilhoon retorts, turning his head so that he’s facing Minhyuk. "You think I forgot about all the people you told me abou—"

Minhyuk covers Ilhoon's mouth with his hand before he can finish the sentence, despite the fact that the number of, and stories behind, Minhyuk’s many past flings isn’t a secret to anyone. He lets out a painful yelp a second later, quickly pulling his hand back and examining the finger Ilhoon probably bit into.

“Seriously, though," Changsub jumps in before they get the chance to get into it any further, "I’d rather be a one metre seventy-five bed of flowers than search the whole of Seoul to find someone who can’t even be bothered to show up and introduce themselves."

“Try the centre,” Minhyuk suggests, and then, as if he thought better of it, “Or Hyunsik. He’ll most likely be of more help, as always.”

“Hyung. You're not one metre seventy-five.”

Ilhoon snickers at the way Changsub narrows his eyes at the remark, obviously happy with himself even though he isn’t much, or any, taller than Changsub is. Minhyuk half-heartedly bites back a grin in amusement. Changsub just sighs in defeat and, deciding he’s had enough of them for today, gets up from the couch and declares his departure. He heads for the door of their apartment, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his jacket in the process while Minhyuk offers a weak apology and asks if he really wants to leave this early. Changsub makes up a lie about an early shift tomorrow and leaves once he’s assured Minhyuk he isn’t actually angry and let him pull him in for a quick hug to say goodbye and send him off.

As he is sitting on the bus home, he thinks about everything Minhyuk and Ilhoon said to him, and whether this whole issue is worth seeking help from Hyunsik or, worse, the infamous assistance centre, or if, perhaps, living the rest of his life accompanied by a pet only he knows is there isn’t that bad, after all. Frankly speaking, he’s okay, life is okay like this, all the suppressed disappointment over his lost soulmate aside, and, with his arm completely covered soon, Changsub thinks there is nothing he can’t get used to at this point, especially if it’s something as comforting as a cat to cuddle in the evening, which, if he is being honest with himself, he is kind of looking forward to. All he wants right now is to get home, collapse on his bed and fall asleep to its soothing purr.

Changsub couldn’t possibly have imagined what it would be he’d find himself confronted with instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this took me a whole month to get finished and i Wont Get Any Faster Fellas better get used to it


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter includes explicit depictions of violence (no gore), only continue if you are okay with reading stuff like that! thank you

Changsub spots Hyunsik in his usual spot, in front of one of the computers by the windows and quickly makes his way over to him. He puts a hand on his shoulder once he’s standing behind him, more as a silent greeting than to tell him he’s here, because Hyunsik  _knows_ , he knew the second Changsub set foot in the library not even a minute ago, and Changsub still isn’t completely over the fact that he’ll never be able to even startle Hyunsik by appearing out of nowhere.

“You got a minute?” he asks, and Hyunsik takes one of his earphones out, though his eyes remain glued to the screen.

“Sure.”

He makes a vague gesture with his hand, for Changsub to  _come here_ , or  _stay there_ , or something to that extent, so Changsub pulls up a chair from the desk closest to him, sits down next to Hyunsik and watches his fingers fly over the keyboard as he continues to write the essay, or whatever it is he is working on, switching tabs too fast for Changsub to get a chance and read what any of the websites he has opened are about. The keyboard clicking is the only sound in the whole library, and if it weren’t for Hyunsik’s gentle voice pulling Changsub out of his thoughts and reminding him that he came for a reason, he would have been happy to spend the rest of the day sitting in the library and letting the calm, peaceful atmosphere make him forget about the horrifying prospect of his eight hour long evening shift.

“What’s up?”

Changsub clears his throat, averting his gaze from where it was resting on the computer screen to the floor as he thinks of a way to put everything that is going on into as controlled and few words as possible. He should’ve thought about it on the way here, considering he has had this visit planned ever since Minhyuk suggested it, but Changsub can’t deny that as much as he enjoys spending time with Hyunsik, this is not an excuse he is lucky to make to see him. He hates having to ask for advice, simply because he hates the whole situation he is in, he’s become sick of it by now.

“I got matched a few days before my birthday and, uhm, it’s not really— there have been some problems.”

Hyunsik’s fingers come to a halt. He turns his head to look at Changsub and the worry bubbles up inside of him, he’s confused and unsure what to make of the vague statement, so Changsub clears the sky of clouds with a swipe of his hand — his way of assuring Hyunsik it isn’t that big of a deal, and hopes to keep his feelings at bay without interfering more than he’s comfortable. Despite Changsub’s long training and the high level he’s reached, playing with people’s emotions isn’t something he’s proud of doing or could ever justify, so he keeps manipulation to a minimum, only giving comfort when a well-meant hug or five different kinds of tranquillisers won’t.

Hyunsik tears his eyes away, but much to Changsub’s dismay, all he does is save the file unfinished, before turning back around and giving Changsub his undivided attention. The last thing he wants is any of his friends blowing this up more than it needs to be, or wasting time stressing about it as much as he does.

“Problems?”

“I still have no idea who they are, or where they are, or why we haven't met yet. I know it’s not the same for everyone, but it’s been  _weeks._  Like, I didn’t want any of this to begin with, but what am I doing wrong that it’s taking so long? At first I tried to ignore it and just wait, but it’s— I’m going to go crazy if nothing changes. I just want it to be over and done with already.”

He doesn’t try to keep his voice down or hide the frustration in his words, not only because Hyunsik is one of the librarians, and the only one working Wednesdays, but because he would have told Changsub if there was anyone present he could be disturbing when he first sat down next to him. He hasn't, which means there's no one close to being in hearing distance and Changsub can tell his story without worrying about a stranger eavesdropping or being that annoying guy in the library that keeps people from studying in peace. It may be the least powerful of all skills, but Changsub likes to think of sensing presence and distance as useful as it is quiet and calm, and another quality to admire about Hyunsik.

“Are they there, on the other end?”

Changsub nods, and he remembers the feeling of a hand around his neck, short, blunt nails digging into his skin and the blood pumping through his veins, his heart racing inside his chest and the urge to get away, get away and escape the tight grip threatening to block his air stream. His own hands came up to his neck, desperate to free himself as the world began to go black from the corners of his eyes and dizziness made his room spin, but there was nothing to free himself from.

“And you can reach them?”

He opened his mouth but no words were coming out, no air left in his lungs to scream for help or beg for them to stop. Tears blurred his vision, and scraps of an angry monologue were filling the room, Changsub could only make out bits and pieces of the string of swear words being yelled, hammered into his brain.

“Yes,” he says, hesitant to continue. “Actually, they. They’re stronger than me. They’ve blocked me out before.”

Hyunsik’s eyebrows perk up in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Perception. Probably a nine,” Changsub mumbles, and Hyunsik’s eyebrows disappear behind his fringe, the spark of interest inside of him almost impossible to ignore. He’s quick to force it back into a corner of his brain to think about later and leaves it uncommented, to stay focused and concentrate on the issue at hand as he regains control over his face.

“I’ve read about similar cases before, people getting matched but not actually finding their match, but they're rare. If the other person is being held in captivity or generally doesn’t get to go outside often, naturally your chances of meeting are going to be a lot lower. But that’s, like, mostly prisoners or people with limited mobility, and I’d be surprised if your match turned out to be a murderer.”

“Great,” Changsub says, throwing his hands up in exasperation and his voice drowning in sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

“Hyung, honestly, I doubt that’s what’s happening here. There’s probably another explanation,” Hyunsik tries to comfort him, already cramming through his brain, determined to find something that will be of help and put Changsub’s mind at ease. “Maybe… they’re on holiday? Or so busy they never leave the house, or the office, or something. Things like that likely don’t get reported or written about, so they could be more common than we think.”

“Do you know  _anyone_  who’s had to wait as long as me?” Changsub asks, the tone of his voice making it obvious he knows the answer.

“No, but, I mean—,” Hyunsik tries to save his argument—

“Yeah, me neither.” — just to get cut off by Changsub’s unimpressed remark.

Hyunsik’s shoulders go slack in defeat, and he lets out a heavy breath.

“Have you tried the databank at the centre?” he pipes up another time. “They could be registered there.”

“Or maybe it’s not meant to be.”

“No. Hyung. Don’t give up yet. Not to sound like Minhyuk hyung here, but every person has someone they’re meant to meet. The people who are alone just gave up too soon. I won’t let you be one of them.”

Changsub lets out a tired sigh, slumping back in his seat. Hyunsik’s determination is partly endearing and partly draining all life out of him. The situation isn’t nearly as hopeless to him as it is to Changsub, and he wishes he could keep some of that confidence for himself.

“Alright,” he mumbles, getting up before he manages to dig himself a hole he can’t get out of by himself, trying to shake off that defeated feeling. “I gotta go to work, so…”

“I’ll dig around and see if I can find something on this,” Hyunsik adds, shooting Changsub an encouraging smile, “Hang in there, yeah?”

“Sure. Thank you for listening and stuff. I’ll see you.”

He forces a weak excuse of a smile onto his face, pats Hyunsik on the shoulder and as he’s heading towards the entrance, he could swear he can feel Hyunsik’s worried gaze boring holes into the back of his head all the way to the heavy glass door at the other end of the room, where he finally steps outside and escapes Hyunsik’s line of sight. He mentally prepares himself to go to work for another endless afternoon of stifling silence and thoughts about his fate gone wrong.

Once he’s stood in front of the assistance centre the next morning, he almost misses his not so cosy counter at the convenience store. He shouldn't hate the centre as much as he does, but its notorious image and the stories he's heard by people who've had to go here before him make it difficult to even give it a chance. Its sole purpose is to control and manage the skilled with the few resources that they have, although they try to mask it as a safe haven, a place of help and support.

Changsub makes sure no one sees him as he enters the small building and finds himself in the entrance area, a quiet sigh escaping his lips at the sight of around ten people already waiting to be called up. He struts over to the machine by the wall, draws a queue number and takes a seat in the corner, from where he gets a good view of the entire hall with all its chairs, the water dispenser and the front desk and all the other people scattered around, killing time. There is an unhappy looking couple, a few inconspicuous people and two whose entire bodies seem to be covered in flowers of all kinds from their neck to the very tips of their fingers, from what Changsub can tell, anyway. He averts his gaze before they can catch him staring and, thankful for the increasingly slow spreading on his arm, hopes, if any of his wishes were ever to be granted, to never have it go that far.

His number gets called after half an eternity, his heart is beating in his throat and relief and nervousness are battling inside him as he walks over to the counter, where he’s greeted by the unfriendly face of a woman looking up at him. The distinct expression plastered all over her face makes it clear she dislikes being here as much as Changsub does.

"Hello," he says, steadying his voice as good as he can, "I was hoping you could help me. I got linked a few weeks ago, but I can't find my match."

She gives a small nod, most likely having heard the same story hundreds of times unless she started working here yesterday, and asks him for his details, the details of his match that he half-guesses and assumes, and types it all into her computer. A few clicks later, she looks back up at him with that same bored, empty gaze.

“Unfortunately, we currently don't have anyone matching your description. If you wish to be informed in case someone does get registered here, we will save your phone number and you'll be automatically contacted to schedule a meeting to determine if it is in fact your designated partner. In that case, the both of you will be removed from the databank along with all your personal information.”

Changsub is taken aback by her rehearsed words, void of any kind of empathy, and he feels silly for getting his hopes up without even realising, the disappointment settling in his bones so heavy, he’s scared he might not be able to stay standing up right any longer.

"Uhm. Okay. Sure. Is that all you can do?” he asks against all instincts.

"I'm afraid so, sir.”

Changsub grits his teeth, suppresses an angry huff and gives her his number.

"And then I left. I don't know what I expected, but it was more than that."

"You shouldn't expect a miracle from them. It's not like a match can be tracked with technology,” Minhyuk says, fumbling to fix his beanie for the tenth time in five minutes, never quite satisfied with the way it sits on his head and makes his fringe look. Changsub can only do as much as open his mouth to answer, when the air gets forced out of his lungs with one strong push against his chest, crashing into a hard surface behind him, and he lets out a painful cry and sinks to the cold ground. He slings his arms around his body, trying to block it— _him_ out, but the throbbing pain at the back of his head and the constricting grip around his wrists, pinning him down without a chance to get away, make it impossible to stay concentrated enough to even try.

“Changsub—"

“Please stop. Stop, stop, stop,” he brings out between sobs, hunched up and curled into himself, unable to move any more. He’s frozen on the spot, his breath leaving him panting, and he falls silent at the sound of a voice ringing in his ears, the same words repeated over and over, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , and the fear in them palpable, matching his own. He takes a shallow breath, and it’s all gone, no more begging, no more hot little needles burning their way into his skull and back. A few seconds pass, of Changsub waiting, waiting if it might come back, but the voice doesn’t return, and his focus shifts from his breathing to the cars passing by and the people, probably whispering about him, hurrying past him. He dares lift his head again and looks up at Minhyuk and into his horrified face.

“Are you okay?”

Changsub just lets out a pained groan, his knees everything but thankful for the sudden fall, as he forces his limbs into movement again; he gets up, dusts off his clothes with shaky hands and grabs a hold of his bag that he must have dropped. He’s thankful for Minhyuk’s arm around his back, guiding him to the nearest bench on embarrassingly wobbly legs and only relaxes when he feels the solid wood under him. Burying his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, he takes a deep breath and does his best to get his heart rate back to normal.

“What was that?” Minhyuk asks hesitantly.

“My—My match,” Changsub croaks out. “He's been projecting onto me.”

“He?”

“I’ve heard his voice before. I think it was him.”

“That wasn’t the first time?”

“No,” Changsub says into the palms of his hands. “The first time was after I got home from your place, that evening we watched the movie.”

Changsub remembers the feeling of a hand around his neck, short, blunt nails digging into his skin and the blood pumping through his veins, his heart racing inside his chest and the urge to get away, get away and escape the tight grip threatening to block his air stream. His own hands came up to his neck, desperate to free himself as the world began to go black from the corners of his eyes and dizziness made his room spin, but there was nothing to free himself from. He opened his mouth but no words were coming out, no air left in his lungs to scream for help or beg for them to stop. Tears blurred his vision, and scraps of an angry monologue were filling the room, Changsub could only make out bits and pieces of the string of swear words being yelled, hammered into his brain. His eyes started rolling back, and the grip suddenly loosened, and Changsub gulped for air. The angry voice got drowned out by a whimper so clear and unsettlingly close, it could have been his own, followed by a sob and stinging pain in his cheek. A slap to his face. His skin still burning, and the pressure on his throat not lessening but giving enough space to breathe, Changsub forced himself to calm down, take one breath after the other and tell himself he wasn’t in danger, none of the things he was feeling were real, though he wasn’t sure it made much of a difference. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed when it all disappeared, eventually, leaving him unharmed and with nothing but vivid memories that would come back to haunt him in his dreams.

“I’m sorry,” Minhyuk says, pulling Changsub out of his thoughts; he didn’t even notice he was sharing his memories with Minhyuk inside his head, but Changsub is past the point of caring. He should be glad, relieved to be able to share what’s going on with someone else, it should be of comfort to have Minhyuk lifting one of the many weights off of Changsub’s shoulders, so that he doesn’t have to carry the burden all on his own, but something inside him is convinced it would have better stayed buried, shoved into the darkest corner of his brain where he doesn’t have to deal with it.

“Do you need a distraction?” Minhyuk offers, like he’s done so many times before, helping Changsub take his mind off things too stressful or scary to think about, or get a good night’s sleep without gruesome nightmares startling him awake. He’s always been there to help when Changsub needed him, he’d ban all of the serious thoughts from his head, made them linger in his subconscious for as long as he had asked him to. But this time avoiding the issue feels wrong, like the worst choice they could possibly make, and it might have consequences neither of them dare to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone is still reading this: i am sorry


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for explicit depictions of violence again, only continue if you are comfortable reading!

Changsub wakes up gasping for air, that heavy, heavy weight on top of him, the pungent smell of alcohol and sweat in the air stinging in his nose and making him feel sick to his stomach. It takes him a second to catch on, and he suppresses the urge to fight back or escape, because it’ll all be over quicker if he lets him have his way with him, until he gets to let his anger out on him and he’s calmed down, Changsub tells himself—or the both of them, although it’s no use, there’s no possible way for them to communicate with each other, no matter how much he tries, no matter how many calming nothings he whispers to himself. The dizziness sets in, he can’t tell left from right anymore, and the panic becomes impossible to control.

A shower. To get rid of those rough hands on his face, around his neck, pinning him down by his wrists and everywhere else they got to reach and claimed theirs, the familiar voice at the other end, that Changsub clings to when it gets too much and he loses his grip on reality, cracking under tears as he promised to stay,  _stay with you, I’m not leaving you, I love you. Please. Please believe me. I won’t—_

He got cut off, and Changsub’s lungs expanded without restraints. He was back in his room, empty and quiet apart from the distant sound of traffic and the television running next door, seeping through the windows and the thin walls, dark and void of any kind of warmth. He sat up, shivering as the blanket slid off his shoulders, and forced himself to take a deep, controlled breath, shoved his own panic inducing thoughts aside to concentrate on getting through to him and making sure he was okay; greeted by darkness and accompanied by pure exhaustion, winding itself around his wrists and ankles light like smoke and resting heavy like shackles, his movements were slow, tiring, but Changsub did what he could to chase it all away, took one of the hundred bricks resting atop his chest and helped him get used to breathing with crushed lungs. He stayed with him for a while, so that things wouldn’t get worse before they got better, and because he dreaded leaving more than anything else, hated being pulled back, as if he was holding onto him, and having to fight against him to break away. It was the last thing he wanted to do.

His hands are still shaking, wrapped tightly around the faucet, and a frustrated sob escapes his throat as he feels the strength draining from his body. It takes him half a minute to turn on the water, he jumps when it first hits his back, and another ten to stop crying. Rinsing his hair, scrubbing at his skin until his fingers have gone numb, it’s not his body and his body isn’t his anymore.

By the time he’s put on clothes and made his way back into his room, Changsub is wide awake, his eyes are bloodshot and he may never get rid of the constant tremble in his body, but the shock has worn off and his thoughts are somewhat in order, and it’s as good as things will get at this point. His phone tells him it’s thirty-something past four and dies on him, he downs the bit of soup left in the cup of instant noodles he finds next to his bedside table and sticks a scribbled note to his laptop reminding him to order new food once he remembers where he put the charger.

Wide awake, left with nothing to do in the middle of the night he can no longer seek comfort in silence, solitude or a beer and a shitty drama to keep himself distracted. It’s too little, never enough to ground him the way he needs it, and he has no one and nothing to turn to but the only constant in his life he can trust to stay with him, whether he wants it to or not. It was sometime after midnight, two, three, four days ago, he was sitting on his bed, freshly showered and far from willing — or able — to go back to sleep, and loneliness had begun to creep up the corners of his bed, slowly making its way towards him; he felt it close, all around him and inside of him, messing with his thoughts, and his heart began to race, his breathing became erratic and tears formed in his eyes, and Changsub started talking. His voice wasn’t stable, it wasn’t as clear and silver as it should have been, but Changsub started talking, breaking the silence of the lifeless, self-made prison he called his apartment, and he didn’t stop until he ran out of things to say and felt silly for having a one-sided conversation and feeling good about it. He was still alone, still awake when he shouldn’t have been, and his questions would stay unanswered, perhaps unheard by anyone but him, yet the mere possibility that they might not have been, that they might have reached the only person he still dared reaching out for, was enough for Changsub to keep going, to turn to someone he couldn’t be sure was even there. He wasn’t cursing him out under his breath, not complaining about the cat he misses knowing nearby anymore, but asking questions as if they were having real conversations, like he wishes they could. From “I don’t know if you’re listening, are you— are you there? Are you— just, please stop dragging me into this—“, to “Why won’t you just show up? Sneak out and we can meet and—and I don’t know, figure this out. Together.”

“Listen,” Changsub says, and it’s begging more than it is a meaningless, conventional request, “I want to help you, but you’ll need to give me something to work with. What am I supposed to do?”

When he’d figured out how to keep loneliness at arm’s length, frustration took its place, when the fact that he might as well have been talking into the void the entire time sank in, and it dawned on him that he was merely coping, instead of looking for a solution. He wasn’t moving forward, he’d found a way to deal with the horrible place he was in and that little achievement alone was more comfort than he’d known in a while. He was going in circles and circles and in circles he’s going, still.

“You know I have no idea where you are or what’s going on, so if you just—just let me hear your voice. Please. Tell me what to do. You can’t have me get beaten up everyday and, and never respond to anything I say. I only get to hear you when you’re…,” he trails off, and then he understands, and he regrets ever blaming him, complaining as if that’d change the situation they’re in. He lets out a resigned sigh.

“Just tell me you’re holding up okay. Or anything. Please.”

Changsub waits, or maybe he just _is_ and calls it waiting, or maybe waiting is all he has become to be, waiting like he always does and like he knows he shouldn’t, because he’s more likely to get a reaction talking to the cash register at work, if it weren’t for the fact that he has called in sick for the fourth, fifth time by now and was probably about to get fired for it. He gets pulled out of his thoughts, his waiting, by a firm grip around his wrist, cutting off the blood flow and yanking him forward and almost off his bed, and his heart begins to pound at an awfully quick pace against his ribcage, his pulse in his ears. It gets drowned out by that awful, loud voice again, _What the fuck was I saying, then? You think I can’t tell you were listening to—_ but the angry tirade is interrupted by the voice Changsub is always desperate to hear, _I wasn’t, I wasn’t listening to—to—,_ he breaks off into a sob, and Changsub’s heart crumbles inside his chest, and his hand is getting numb. It’s become so familiar,  _too_  familiar, his face getting pushed into the mattress a moment later, a small whimper, a sniff and a croaked out apology, eventually, every single word like a kick to Changsub’s gut. His breath hitches in his throat as he feels cold metal dig into his neck, not deep enough to draw blood but real enough to have him freeze on the spot, every breath forced out of his lungs and every muscle in his body tense. He can’t tell how much time has passed when he gets let go of and tries to tell himself it was merely a way to scare him, intimidate him and make him compliant, he tells himself over and over, but he can’t bring himself to believe it.

The first rays of sunlight light up his apartment not long after, serving as his daily reminder that time is going by, days are passing outside of his apartment and he can do nothing but watch, sit by and witness and pray for things to be different. He finds his phone charger, texts Minhyuk and Hyunsik and asks them to come over, without further explanation because he doesn’t need one and they’d never ask for one, simply promise to be there as early as work allows it.

The moment he opens the door to Minhyuk, Hyunsik and Ilhoon standing in front of him is the moment he’s been dreading, keen to stall for as long as he could manage, because he’s been pushing them away just like the prospect of having to go back to functioning eventually, and he feels bad for avoiding them, shutting them out whenever they had tried to reach out and help, sending him text messages that would go ignored because if he didn’t accept help, maybe it would mean he didn’t need it. It’s the moment he breaks down. Minhyuk’s face drops the second their eyes meet, and Changsub’s vision is blurred by tears before he gets a chance to blink them away, Minhyuk pulls him into his arms as all the ugly, scary feelings come crushing down on him. He holds him until Changsub draws back, taking a shallow, shaky breath and mustering a weak smile, that Minhyuk returns with a pat on his shoulder and the assurance Changsub needs.

They move into the living room, where Minhyuk gets Changsub to sit down on the couch, Ilhoon hands him one of his own tissues that he probably found lying around somewhere, and, once the lump in Changsub’s throat has decided to let him talk again, he tries to find the middle ground, as he tells them about what has been going on, why he hasn’t left his apartment for days, without getting too carried away and letting shine through what it’s been doing to him any more than it already has. He fights to stay composed, to talk about the last few nights without digging up the painful memories and everything else that comes with them. They listen, and listen, they don’t give small nods here and there or shift their weight from one foot onto the other, they just listen and their faces turn distorted with horror the more Changsub tells them, although he tries to find the middle ground. He stops before he starts to ramble as if desperate to make up for the lack of human contact he was fighting with endless monologues directed at one of the walls in his bedroom, and they stay silent, robbed of any quick, comforting words.

“Is it possible he isn’t doing it on purpose?” Ilhoon is the first one to speak up, his eyes wandering from Changsub to Minhyuk, before they land on Hyunsik.

“He’s way too skilled to not have it under control,” Hyunsik explains, “and his projection seems to be too clear and precise for it to be by accident. From what Changsub hyung’s told us, anyway.”

“There has to be a way for Changsub hyung to shut him out. That guy is fucked up.”

"He doesn’t want to hurt me,” Changsub interjects, because he can’t bear Ilhoon blaming him like Changsub did all this time. “I think he’s just trying to get me to help him.”

"But you have no idea where he is or what's actually happening,” Ilhoon says back, unimpressed. “Both of you are strong, but neither of you can do anything about this situation. What’s the point?”

“Can’t you break the bond?” he adds, before Changsub gets a chance to muster an unconvincing response, and his words sting, they sting like the realisation that you left your keys at home or your wallet at a restaurant, only worse, closer to his core. Ilhoon’s the first one to say it out loud, the inevitable Changsub has been too scared to let himself think about, and that hasn’t left the back of his mind ever since it first popped up in his head. He finds Hyunsik’s eyes, as if he had the answer for everything, as if it would be okay if Hyunsik just said it was.

"I really don't know if there's a way to find him,” Hyunsik says eventually, the hesitation in his words obvious as he lets them tumble past his lips. “Breaking off seems like the only choice you have if you don't want him to get into your head all the time—“

“Are you out of your minds?” Minhyuk bursts out, cutting Hyunsik off as he steps up into the small half-circle that has formed around Changsub from where he’d been following the conversation. He casts a glance at the three of them, almost blazing with indignation.

“You just want to leave him to—to get treated like shit for the rest of his life? When we’re the only ones who can help him? He needs us,” he says, and directed at Changsub, “He needs _you_. You’re his match.”

“Matched or not, Changsub hyung doesn't owe that guy anything,” Ilhoon chimes back in. “It’s not his job to save him. And it sure as hell isn’t ours.”

"It is!” Minhyuk shoots Ilhoon a bewildered look, before turning back to Changsub. "Could you live with yourself if you left him all to himself? You're obviously the only person to turn to for him. God knows what will happen if you leave him now.”

“And what am I supposed to do, hyung? I want to save him but I have no fucking idea how. And neither do you. I haven't left this apartment for days, out of fear I'm gonna get beat up while I'm at work or hanging out with you. You _saw_ what it’s like. I’m no fucking use to him. He thinks I can help him, but I can’t, and I can’t live like this anymore. He’s ruining my life, he has me  _trapped_  in his world and he won’t let me go.”

Changsub’s voice breaks at the last words, and he gives up, biting down on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling and to keep himself from bursting into tears again. Minhyuk seems to swallow his anger and whatever he was about to say, lets out a heavy breath instead and sits down next to Changsub.

“Just hang on a little while longer,” he says, his words calmer and his hand rubbing soft comfort into Changsub’s back. “I know this has been hard on you, okay, but we’ll find him. And we’ll make sure he’s safe. He hasn’t given up on you yet, and you shouldn’t either.”

It’s easier said than done, but Changsub gives a small nod and clings to Minhyuk’s words, and they leave when he’s assured them a hundred times that he’s alright, back on his feet although staggering, and they’ve decided on a day they’ll be able to think more clearly to meet and come up with a plan to end this situation for good. His apartment falls silent as quickly as it’d been enlivened, and Changsub gets to breathe, recalls Minhyuk’s words again and again and again, blending out any doubts already nagging at his conscious. He plumps down onto his bed, crawls under the covers as his eyes fixate on a random spot on the floor and he tries to shut off his mind.

At first he’s sure he’s imagining it, sleep-deprived and probably hallucinating, but there’s warmth spreading from the top of his head down to his feet, like sunlight hitting his skin on one of the perfect spring days he loves, calm, gentle waves clinging to him, nursing him like strong arms wrapped around his waist and a soothing hand combing through his hair. He buries his face into the pillow, as the nameless cat nuzzles its nose into the crook of his neck and lies down next to him, soft fur tickling his cheek and its small heated body pressed against Changsub’s. Its complacent, calm purr fills the air, and a small smile pulls up the corners of his lips as he realises it’s not his mind playing tricks on him. His body relaxes, another wave of tears soak the fabric of the pillow, and a moment later he’s drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changjae... at last

**Author's Note:**

> my first ever chaptered fic i am posting. and my first ever changjae. what a milestone. ([twitter](http://www.twitter.com/jungsilhoon))


End file.
